Sunday, July 23, 2000
Sparky's 15 minutes of fame too short
Anderson will have a tough time summarizing his career
COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. — In terms of vocabulary, Sparky Anderson is a man of few words. His skill as a speechmaker derives from his sincerity, his energy and his endurance.
His Baseball Hall of Fame induction address figures to be short on syntax and long on length. Spectators at this afternoon's ceremonies are advised to pack a lunch and roll back their dinner reservations.
“They said 15 minutes,” the Big Red Machine's manager and monologuist said Saturday. “Tony (Perez) said I can't wet my lips in 15 minutes. As Tony knows, I can talk.”
So much to say. So little time. A man devotes himself to baseball, attains its lifetime achievement award and then is asked to condense his career into a couple of choice quips. This is no easy task. Anderson could do 15 minutes on the infield fly rule and neither repeat himself nor complete a declarative sentence.
It would be wonderful, of course, because it would be so genuine, so heartfelt and so funny. Playing ball is poor preparation for public speaking, and yet it is remarkable how many former ballplayers are able to rise to this particular oratorical occasion.
The Hall of Fame evokes eloquence from men normally inclined to mumble. They rehearse and revise, determined to script their day in the sun until it is polished like a showroom sedan.
Al Gore's stump speech pales in comparison to Reggie Jackson's 1993 induction day remarks. George W. Bush has yet to reach the rhetorical passion George H. Brett achieved on the Cooperstown podium last year. Tom Lasorda was his usual spellbinding self at his 1997 enshrinement, but brief and reverent instead of windy and raw.
Phil Rizzuto decided to wing it, drifting from subject to subject in a stream of self-deprecating semi-consciousness. It was memorable, but unadvisable. Most people are better off prepared.
Perez has been testing himself on tape during his dry runs for today's inductions. Though he has been anxious about his persistently thick accent, he says he will speak without dread and in two languages, intent on letting his Spanish listeners feel the fullness in his heart.
“Being here is something I've been waiting for for nine years,” he said Saturday. “I'm not worried about that speech tomorrow. I feel great to be here. I'm going to have fun and enjoy the moment.”
“Tony's not nervous,” Carlton Fisk joked, “because nobody's going to understand him.”
Fisk, by contrast, has been sweating his speech for weeks. The accomplished catcher of the Boston Red Sox and Chicago White Sox admits to lost sleep and high anxiety in the days preceding his induction. He joked Saturday about waking up in the middle of the night screaming, “I'm not worthy.”
“When you play the game of baseball, you know you can contribute to your team,” he said. “Even if you play the Yankees or you're in the World Series, it's all the same game.”
Speechmaking, Fisk said, is different. It is one thing to hit a 95 mph fastball before 50,000 shrieking fans and quite another to stand in front of a microphone and break the silence for 25,000. A recent survey suggested the average person is more deathly afraid of public speaking than of death.
“Al Kaline told me something I have never forgot,” Anderson said. “He said, "If you go into that Hall of Fame and you see all of the (returning players) and you know who they are and what they've done, the fear of God does not hold back.'”
Anderson says he will be scared stiff. He cannot be scared silent.
Tim Sullivan welcomes your e-mail at tsullivan@enquirer.com.
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Sparky's 15 minutes of fame too short
